


To Fall In Love

by Rogueangelll



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (yet), Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Everybody Lives, Fluff, Freeform, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Modern AU, NOT PwP! Woah!, No Sex, One Shot, This is honestly the only happy thing I’ve ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogueangelll/pseuds/Rogueangelll
Summary: Hamilton’s boyfriend, Laurens, is a salty, hot-as-hell stud who owns a tattoo parlor.  Hamilton plans a romantic evening for him and Laurens to enjoy so he can profess his love to him.  (Not before talking to Mulligan on the phone non-stop about how much he loves Laurens, of course.)





	To Fall In Love

"Mulligan, I'm in love!"  Hamilton whisper-shouted, a slight squeal in his voice.  

"With...?"  Mulligan inquired into the phone, unsure what else to say.  

"This guy, I— I know him from this tattoo shop and we went out a few times and I'm so fucking sure that I love him," Hamilton could barely breathe, pacing his apartment excitedly and trying not to drop his phone as his hands trembled.

"You've been out a few times and you think you love him?" Mulligan asked skeptically, to which Hamilton responded defensively.

"Not, like, a few times only, we know each other because he did Laf's tattoo, right? An American flag on his bicep with some other cool shit like roses or whatever because, y'know, it's Lafayette," Hamilton paused and giggled like a child, "but man, Herc, this guy's so damn talented! I was looking at a bunch of his shit online on his Facebook page to see other tattoos he's done and he not only does tattoos, but he paints and draws, too! Which isn't uncommon, but he's so goddamn amazing! And he has all these paintings and shit in his studio— which is across the street-ish from where I work, by the way— and I thought, y'know, he must've just bought these somewhere, right? In retrospect it was an imbecilic assumption— ah, anyway, so he painted this shit himself! He's like, Apollo, except with a fucking handsome stubbly chin and this short but low key long-ish hair that's, y'know, undercut so it's longer on top, oh!— and he's blond! Apollo was the god of manly beauty, right? Well, that an all of the arts and shit. Because he's a fucking manly-ass beauty, alright. He's so hot and smart and sexy and goddammit, I can't keep my hands to myself when I'm with him!"

"Alex," Mulligan laughed a little, being put in a good mood by Hamilton's somehow faster-than-normal speaking.

"Sorry, sorry, but y'know. So I started talking to him about his art and college and how he runs his little business of tattoos and shit, right? And I asked him if, y'know, he wanted to hang out sometime. So that was the first date and we went to a bar and got some drinks and hung out. And then the 'second' date, I don't know if it really counts as that, I went over to his studio and he gave me a tiny little tattoo on my wrist of a little unicorn which— don't you dare say anything, I know you want to— is actually pretty cool and not as gay as it sounds.”

"I don't know," Mulligan snickered, "sounds pretty gay to me, Ham."

"Well, you know what's even more gay than that?" Hamilton said defensively, "After that, we kissed right in his studio, and he flipped the sign and locked the door just to bring me up to his apartment and we had some pretty good sex. Look, I know that I'm usually insatiable or whatever the hell you like to say as a substitute for the label of 'hoe'—"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with liking to have sex. I don't care as long as you're not being a damn home wrecker."

"I'm not a home wrecker. And I haven't had sex with anyone but John in the past several months," he paused and sighed, backtracking to regain his thoughts, "anyway, usually I can't find a partner who actually knows how to have good sex— like, good, amazing sex— but goddamn, John is amazingly great at it. Like, I’ve never ever, ever met anybody like him who has such a like mind with me. We both know was we want and know what we expect, and we respect each other in bed. I don't know how to explain it, but basically, even though we both have extremely synonymous definitions of how sex should go— is that the right words? I don't know— it's still, somehow, exciting. We're dating, by the way, I guess. I don't know. Like I said, he's the only person I've been having sex with in the past few months, and God, I don't mind it at all.  There's nobody else I think about having sex with, like, yeah, I can see a hot person and be like 'yo, it would be interesting to smash them,' but I really only have eyes for John Laurens.  I don't even know why, Herc!  He just does something to me and it fucks me up, God, not a moment goes by when I don't think about him.  It's like he's the only one that matters, y'know?"

"About you being boyfriends, or dating or whatever you kids do these days, is it established as monogamous, or...?"  Mulligan inquired carefully.

Hamilton excitedly bit his lip, his grip on his phone tightening, "Yeah.  I mean— yeah.  So, last month-ish, I don't know, he introduced me to one of his friends as his boyfriend so yeah, it's official.  I think.  I don't know," he dragged out the vowels of the last sentence, whining in sudden panic, "But I don't think he'd be having sex with anyone else, I mean, I guess sex is one thing but I think I would actually fucking cry if he had a romance with anybody else.  I just love him so much and all I want is to tell him that, but I'm... scared.”

Mulligan said into the phone gently, "Don't be afraid.  John sounds like a nice guy— granted, I'm only hearing about him now for whatever reason— but I know how you are.  You wouldn't be this head-over-heals for an asshole, hopefully."

"God, no, John's definitely an asshole," Hamilton laughed and squeaked a little, "but like, not in the sort of way that makes him unlikable.  And you'd think he was some privileged white boy prick or whatever which he sort of is but really isn't down at the core.  He's always doing activist shit and is of course inclusive and the guy doesn't even make stereotypical jokes!  Like, what kind of white guy doesn't make stereotypical jokes?!  And I'm telling you, he's one salty motherfucker, but he's salty for a good cause.  He's salty at things that he should be salty at, and not salty at things that only privileged people would be salty at.  John's fucking great.  He's salty, did I mention?"

"You may have.”

"Good.  Don't forget that he's salty.  But also, he's really fucking sweet and we can have really important, emotional conversation and I've told him shit that my own damn brother doesn't know!  Edward, not James Jr. I've even said some things that Lafayette doesn't know and you know I tell that French fucker everything since he's like, my best friend.  Although you're my adoptive mother so you don't count as a best friend."

"Adoptive mother?"  Mulligan sputtered a bit of laughter.  

Hamilton just nodded, still pacing, though he knew Mulligan couldn't see his nod so he said, "Yes, Yes you are.  Anyway, John is really sweet and supportive but I swear to god he's violent, too.  Like, you know how I get angry at people and threaten to resort to physical violence?  Yeah, well, John doesn't do the whole threatening thing, he just totally jumps at the opportunity to punch or slap or yell at a customer or somebody who he doesn't like.  Like, oh my god, one time, this pale-ass white motherfucker came into his parlor and wanted a tattoo that said the n-word on it, and so John was all like 'fuck you, this is a joke, right?'  And this man fucking—" he paused, sucking in a breath for dramatic effect, "—says, 'I have black friends' and therefore he justified it?!"

"Oh boy..."

"Yeah.  And do you know what John does?  So, since the tattoo was supposed to be on the back like some fucking neck tramp-stamp shit, John didn't write the n-word, oh no, he wrote 'I am an ignorant white supremacist fuck' in like, really pretty cursive.  And under the cursive was like, a clip-art style dick with hairy balls.  Real detailed, too. Veins and everything. I had to stop myself from pissing in my pants, I was laughing so hard.  And I had to keep a straight face while I watched him do the tattoo and talk to the guy about his apparent 'status' on the streets," Hamilton snickered at the memory.

"Flattering.”

"So, John took a picture of the tat for later reference and I'll send it to you since it's fucking hilarious.  But anyway, he shows the guy the picture so he can see, and the guy flips and threatens to sue!  John immediately punched the guy, grabbed him by the shirt, told him off, and kicked him out.  And he said, and I quote, 'If I see your ass around here again and you have a fucking tattoo that says that, I will beat you the fuck up and I will call my black friends and ask them if they think it's okay for you to be a racist piece of shit,' and the guy, who I legit thought couldn't get any paler, left as if he had just witnessed Satan or something reaping a soul."

"That's amazing."

"Right?!  And I was like, 'John, babe, you are the single most amazing human ever,' and then he got mad at me for saying he was a good person just because he won't tattoo racist shit on somebody's skin.  But then I told him that he was the most amazing human for fucking up the sex life of a racist piece of shit.  And before you say anything, I swear to god this guy was genuinely racist, like, he had the whole confederate Alabama vibe going on?  It's hard to explain but aside from the fact that he was white and wanted this tattoo, he also talked to John and I like we were his 'people' because we're white, too.  It was fucking ignorant.  But that's just one of the examples of John being amazing.”

"Awesome.  I gotta meet your little boyfriend soon, then.  He can be my son-in-law.”

Hamilton laughed, "Yeah, yeah.  I just— God, I just love him so much.  If you met him and compared our personalities like, for real, despite our obvious differences, you'd see that we're super similar in how we think and what we want and what we believe in.  It's so fucking nice to have a person I can talk to about my beliefs who isn't going to cut me off because I talk too much.  John listens!  And then he tells me how much he likes hearing me talk!  Like who the fuck?  Where?  Since when, bitch?  Like you know how literally everybody else complains about it?  He fucking loves it!  It's literally such an apparently nice asset of mine that it has actually become a bedroom thing.  Even though I personally think he's better at dirty talk but, y'know, I don't know.  Maybe that's just me.  You probably don't wanna hear about how we have sex, though, you're too straight for that."

"Isn't your French friend straight?"

"He's French, it's different."

"...I'm not going to ask.  Anyway, I think you should go for it!  Honestly, it sounds like you have such a strong bond, and unless he's some spunky guy who obviously doesn't like monogamy, then saying how you feel shouldn't be a big deal."

"He obviously likes the title of boyfriend... I guess?  Hopefully?  He likes to remind me that I'm his boyfriend and nobody else's which kinda turns into a bedroom thing too, but saying it out loud makes him sound creepy.  But I swear it's not as possessive as it sounds, it's endearing, and it's not like a, 'If I can't have you, nobody can,' sort of way.  It's a, 'you're my boyfriend so you're only having sex with me, right?' sort of way.  Y'know?  Gah... I love him.  Because I'm the same way, Herc!  I don't want my boyfriend or girlfriend fucking anyone else and I'm like, very attached and possessive!  Oh my God, I just love him so fucking much!"  Hamilton whined.

"You love him?  Then go for it.  If you tell him what you told me, about how much you love his art and his 'manly beauty' and his— ah, other features— then I'm sure he'll see the genuine nature.  That's what people are supposed to do when a relationships starts becoming serious, right?"

"...right.  Right.  Yes.”

"Then what are you talking to me, for?  Go get your man, Alex!  Go tell him how much you love him," Mulligan encouraged.

"You're a real Mom, Herc.  Thanks, man.” Hamilton grinned, stopping his pacing.  

"No problem.  Good luck with your boyfriend and, hey, I better get to meet him before Christmas, 'aight?" 

"Yeah, of course.  Bye."

"Till next time, adoptive son. And you better call me more often, you prick! No more fallouts and flakiness!"

Hamilton hung up the phone with a click, tossing it to the bed and running his fingers through his auburn hair, pacing the bedroom again.  He bit his lip and paced as tears came to his eyes, too excited and giggly and in love for his own good.  

Hamilton had, at last, resolved to tell Laurens at last how he felt.  He left the apartment and ran several blocks all the way to where his work was, ignoring the office building and going straight for the tattoo parlor instead.  

He suddenly turned around and jogged to the grocery store.  Using the last of his loose cash, Hamilton bought ingredients for dinner, and jogged back to the parlor with two brown bags in his arms.  He was careful to avoid running into people and dropping the food.  

Laurens was safely in the back room working on somebody's tattoo— the 'receptionist', Peggy, being the only person in the waiting room— so Hamilton took this lucky chance to run upstairs to Laurens' small apartment above his parlor and there he put away the groceries, showered, changed into the nice jeans and 'casual' button-up he had brought from his own apartment, and started on dinner.  He made curried chicken on rice— which Laurens and all the other South Carolinians apparently called "Country Captain"— since he knew it was one of Laurens' favorites.  Hamilton even set the small table, adding a wooden rose he bought from the store as a centerpiece.  He laid it flat and just on time, Laurens came upstairs.

"Fuck, my hand is cramping, that last woman I just did a sleeve for was rude and I had to refrain from kicking her out," Laurens complained, closing the door behind him.  He inhaled the air.  "Woah, what smells so good?"

Hamilton motioned to the table.  "I made your dumb little country captain dish," he smiled slyly.

"Booty call," Laurens kissed him on the cheek.  "Oh, I feel like a proper American.  Home to dinner from a long day of work, except 'home' is the apartment above my tattoo parlor and dinner was made by my gay boyfriend.”

"Nah, that's the true American Dream," Hamilton waved dismissively.  "All that 50's housewife, perfect family shit is bull anyway.  Here in New York, we keep it more interesting and real."

"True that," Laurens said, following Hamilton to the tiny table which had the two plates of food, a bottle of champagne, and two glasses on it.  Hamilton smugly picked up the rose and held it behind his back.

"But do you know what isn't bull?"  Hamilton whispered, reaching his free arm around Laurens' neck and kissing him briefly on the lips.  "Flowers for your beau."

"Flowers...?"  Laurens asked, watching as Hamilton handed him the wooden rose.

"Flower.  Well, technically, it's not even real.  But it's wooden so it'll never die, y'know?"  He smiled as Laurens took it.  

"Wow, Alex, this is," Laurens was at a loss for words so he just kissed his boyfriend instead.  "Unlike you, but I love it."

"I know, I'm not usually so thoughtful," he laughed and motioned for Laurens to sit.  Hamilton popped open the champagne and poured the carbonated alcohol for them both, before sitting down and holding up his glass.  "Toast to the best boyfriend ever?"

"I toast to him," he smiled endearingly, nodding, "'cause I have the pleasure of sitting right across from him."

"No, John," he sighed, "I meant you.  You're the best boyfriend."

Laurens sipped his champagne.  "Oh, hardly.”

"Hey, take the damn compliment, don't all men love egotism?"  Hamilton laughed. 

"True."

"Oh, by the way," he said, taking a forkful of rice, "I got some stronger alcohol, too, so if you wanna we can do shots later."

Laurens smiled, "You're perfect.  Also, this food is so fucking perfect, and you're neither southern nor Indian."

"Thanks, Pinterest had a recipe.  And oh my God, I had to search through the depths of hell to find my Pinterest login.  It wouldn't fucking let me see the recipe until I logged in and I couldn't remember my password, so I tried signing up for a new account, but it wouldn't let me use the same email address and I didn't feel like digging up my junk email so instead, I just tried to reset the password that I entered three times and still had incorrect, right?  So I go to reset it and it says that the new password can't be the same as the old.  Like what kind of bullshit is that?!"

Laurens laughed and sipped more of his alcohol.  "My hero, swimming through the depths of hell to find the recipe for curried chicken on rice."

"It was quite the daunting task."

"I'd certainly say so myself, my dear.  Speaking of chicken, I've made you try chicken bog, right?"

"What the fuck is chicken bog?"  Hamilton snorted.

"Okay, so basically, we have this every time my family gets together, right?  I think it's southern thing because nobody I've met in New York or England knows what the fuck I'm talking about.  So it's like, rice, shredded chicken, sausage, and sliced hotdog put all together in a big pot and mixed together and cooked.  It's not complicated and you can kinda alter the recipe how you want, I usually like pepper in mine, but my Ma used to work in other spices that I never gave a shit about."

"John, that sounds absolutely disgusting."

"It's amazing and delicious," he grinned.

"Southerners have weird food.  Like, homophobic chicken restaurants and then that one restaurant that you're all obsessed with.  Bojangles'!  That's the one!  The literal epitome of southern fast food being Chick-fil-A's homophobic chicken and Bojangles' breakfast biscuits," Hamilton laughed.

Laurens just sighed and chuckled, "I feel kind of attacked, right now.  Bojangles' is good shit."

"So is Chick-fil-A.  Honestly, I would go, even though they donated money to literally oppose the marriage of two people whose business should only have to be between said two people," Hamilton motioned between himself and Laurens as emphasis, "like, we're a gay couple, so shouldn't be be against Chick-fil-A?"

"Chick-fil-A is good, though."

"Really damn good.  No matter how much it's against us, in the end, it'll always be for our tastebuds.  So yeah, I'll go to Chick-fil-A any day.  Love-hate relationship is strong."

"Understandable," Laurens nodded curtly.  "I mean, lots of conservatives go to Starbucks, even though Starbucks is the breeding grounds of homosexuals."

Hamilton said "ha" out loud and went back to eating.  He flashed a goofy grin at Laurens and looked away again.  "Hey, before you pour more champagne, there's something I wanna tell you but you have to be sober for it."

"Uh... okay," Laurens chuckled.  "What is it?"

"Actually, it can wait, just stay sober until I stop being a pussy, thanks," Hamilton laughed at himself nervously.  Laurens nodded and finished off his first glass of alcohol, returning to eating his dinner.  Hamilton cleared his throat.  "You know, people are so hypocritical.  Like even us, we're hypocrites too.  Everyone's a hypocrite."

"I don't follow.  I mean, I agree, but where's this leading to?"

"Well, for starters, the peanut butter in your cabinet has palm oil in it, even though you want to save the rainforests.  And the chocolate bar I ate today was likely manufactured by illegal child labor or slavery or whatever in some third world country, even though I'm obviously against slavery and child abuse.  And we, a gay couple, are willing to eat at an establishment that is against gay marriage.  And I know that Meade is a pro-lifer, but he gladly eats Ben & Jerry's ice cream even if the company supports Planned Parenthood.  Which, honestly, is really stupid because Planned Parenthood isn't just abortion and people shouldn't be protesting companies that support it.  Even if it is abortion! Fuck it, abortion and any sort of planned parenthood stuff is super misunderstood and people just— ugh. Well, anyway, I'm not Peggy, so I won't rant about that right now. Even though I don't agree with Meade’s political ideology about women’s bodies and what they can do with them. But you know, we're all a mass of knaves and hypocrites, and yet we find the dignity to call one another out for it?"

"I agree 100%, and of course the Planned Parenthood thing too, but like, why is this on your mind?"  Laurens asked.  He paused and teased, "Alex, are you pregnant?!"

"Oh, shut it.  I don't know.  I just found it funny.  Or ironic, I guess."

"Keep talking about it, then, I love hearing you talk all existentially like that," he grinned.

"Really?"

"I think I've told you that a million times and you're still surprised to hear it?"

"Well," Hamilton argued, "it surprises me every time!  I expect you to get sick of my talking eventually.  I'm worse sober than Lafayette is high, and yet you somehow have found a way to tolerate my annoying habits.  Not just talking, oh no, you put up with me showing up unannounced, or hogging the blankets— writing until two AM— taking too long of showers— staying over too much— or being just a bit too loud in bed or," he motioned around them, "breaking into your apartment and making you dinner.  God, John, I don't know how you put up with me and all of my annoying things.  So I'm sitting here and I'm still waiting for you to finally admit you're annoyed with my antics."

"Nah," Laurens just grinned stupidly, "I find all of those things endearing.  Especially the being loud in bed," Laurens winked and laughed, "but also the way you steal blankets, because then I have an excuse for snuggling you closer.  And I like being around you so you're never staying over too much.  I like it when you take long showers, since that gives me another excuse to hop in with you, and your writing is always nothing short of amazing and I totally get writing up until two AM even if I think you should be sleeping at two AM.  Then, of course, I don't mind being made dinner; and then listening to you talk when you're passionate is like falling for you all over again.  Even if I got annoyed with you, I can suck it up.  Because I love you."

Hamilton dropped his fork and his eye twitched.

"Alex?"

"Fuck off!"  He pushed away from the table and stood up, prompting Laurens to stand as well.

"Alex, did—"

Hamilton grabbed him by the collar and buried his face in his neck.  "I planned this whole romantic dinner because I wanted to tell you that but of course you had to say it first, you asshole."

Laurens smirked, Hamilton unable to see as they stayed in an embrace.  He whispered, "Say what?"

"You know what."

"No, what did I say?"

Hamilton mumbled, "I love you," softly, suddenly realizing and pushing away from the blond man.  "Oh, fuck you!  You tricked me!  I've been deceived!"

Laurens just laughed and kissed him.  Hamilton found himself chuckling against his lips and he pulled away, wrapping his arms around his neck and whispering, "I love you," again.

"I love you, too."

"I love you," Hamilton repeated, a little louder.  "I love you, I love you, I love you." He got even louder, colliding his lips with Laurens'.

Laurens backed him against the wall, kissing back tenderly with his hands roaming shamelessly over his boyfriend's body.  He pulled away and panted, smiling, "I love you too," and then he added softly, "we should skip the rest of dinner and whatever alcohol you bought— I ate most of my food anyway and I don't care if it gets cold at this point."

"Mm... but I bought rum, so are you really sure you wanna skip shots?"

"God, yes, I'd love to skip shots," he whispered.  "I really wanna be as sober as humanely possible tonight. I want to remember and experience every second of this a hundred percent."

Hamilton smiled, and whispered before kissing back desperately, "Perfect.  So do I, John, so do I.”


End file.
